Fan Mail: Martha Stewart

Dear Martha:

I am so sorry that some horrific accident or past trauma as left you without a personality. That is so tragic. Of all the things to lose…a limb would have been more compassionate. I tried to watch your Thanksgiving special this morning, and found myself extremely thankful for the moment I changed the channel.

I thought prison would make you more charismatic – or at least more interesting. But no, there are no tear tats to talk about, no shank scar stories to tell, and no girlfriends named Bubba – at least none that you have disclosed.

I am in awe of how you have built an empire on teaching people how to make the kitschy knick knacks that usually end up on the 90% markdown shelf at gift stores throughout the country or as donations to local charities for the tax write off or – worse yet – as kindling for the insurance fire started to recoup the losses sustained attempting to build a sustainable business selling crap. And the people who receive it? One word: Regift.

I am really looking forward to watching you make snowmen out of marshmallows and the tears of small children at Christmas. Afterwards, I am going to drink myself into oblivion by consuming massive amounts of spoiled eggnog and spend the rest of the night singing “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” while dancing around the tree in my underwear and a Santa hat. I will need some method of forgetting the last hour and a half of my life that I’ll never get back.

I honestly don’t understand how a person who basically lives her creative outlet 24/7 can develop such a horrible reputation for being the world’s biggest biddy. I thought that outlets were important for maintaining emotional balance in life. And the stuff you do is even more important for helping housewives alleviate hours of boredom so that they don’t eventually go bat crazy from spending their days cooking, cleaning and chauffeuring and eat their own children.

Yet one of life’s anomalies for Pokey to ponder…

Happy Thanksgiving, you boring, bitch of a woman. I am sure you will be the one with the last laugh, as you stuff the Turkey’s butt with a mixture of cranberry stuffing and hatred.

-Pokey

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Dear Blog,

It has been awhile. I know I have neglected you. I told you I was going out for milk and would be back soon...that was 3 weeks ago. I can only imagine what you have told your shrink. Can't be good.

The truth is, I have been working. Yes, unimaginable - me actually earning dough. It has been rough. And I think I actually miss unemployment. I have also neglected Oprah and the rest of the daytime television lineup.

But here I am, just a girl, standing here, asking you to love me. Knock, knock - who's there? Friendship. Won't you let me in? No, not unless you have pizza. And not any of that Digiorno crap..."tastes like delivery" just like my farts smell like gum drops.

So the manager at the nameless fatory of drudgery came to my desk all in a huff. And he asked me about a letter I'd issued that day - one of the 89 gajillion so of course I had no idea what he was talking about. Anyhoo, he gave me this spiel about how I shouldn't issue a letter without his approval and blah blah blah and how I'd better run across the way to the other building and make sure that the mail clerks didn't send out the letter...Ummmmmmmm. Mr. Manager. First off, the task was sent to me to mail the letter. So if you want to publicize anyone's fail, blame the adjustor who sent the task in the first place. Second of all, until you decide to stop firing people right and left, leaving me (a TEMP) and one other girl to do the work of THREE full timers, then stop telling me I need to run ANYWHERE when the other girl is on lunch break and we need someone to man the phones unless YOU want to take new losses. Seriously. Stop wasting my time. I am far too intelligent and important to put up with this. You see the ESQ. behind my name??? Yes. That means you suck and I don't. Seriously...But that was what I should have said. What I said: I am so sorry. I will call the mailroom right away and remedy this situation. And that's just what I did.

And why??? Because Pokey is humble and I put my pants on the same way you do - one leg at a time, unless I put them on two legs at a time.

This rant is going nowhere. Someone get in their car and come pick me up. I want to go out. Cuz I gotta feelin that tonight's gonna be a good good night. Wooohooo.

Peace in the middle east. What what.

Pokey

A Rant: 10 Things I Hate About the Movie 10 Things I Hate About You

1.) The title is misleading. I did some research and found the poem read by Julia Stiles to Heath Ledger’s (RIP) character online and, it turns out, there aren’t 10, but 13 ways she hates him. The entire movie was a lie. I feel so dirty.

2.) Julia Stiles. If I could take your face and shove it into a waffle iron, I would. But somebody obviously beat me to it.

3.) Alex Mack. Alex Mack, your attempt to cross over from Nickelodeon to the mainstream failed. You were horrible without super powers and completely unbelievable as a normal teen.

4.) References to Sarah Lawrence. Apparently, all intelligent, conformity despising females are required to read Sylvia Platt, listen to indie rock, attend all-girls liberal arts colleges and be named Kat. Otherwise you can’t be “alternative.” Whatever happened to getting tattoos and smoking illegal narcotics? Seriously, Miss Stereotype: Take your Bronte sisters, your Dickinsons and your Sedgwicks and shove em up your derrière. I much prefer Sophie Kinsella and Helen Fielding.

5.) How dare they adapt a William Shakespeare classic in such an impertinent manner. If ol’ Billy Boy were here, I am sure he’d have something to say about this, like, “This sucketh mightily. Could I loatheth Julia Stiles more? I thinketh not!”

6.) Andrew Keegan, you are not and have never been good looking. Please stop trying so hard.

7.) I could think of a million better things to do with the 1 hour and 41 minutes that it takes to get through this audacious slap in the face to teen classics. Like a get Brazilian wax, have my left ear cut off and sent to a person of Picasso’s choosing, eat a worm, move to China, take part in a raw sheep’s liver eating contest, or spend time having coffee and chatting about life with Nancy Grace…

8.) And the whole prom scene…seriously. Could you get more cliché? I am sorry, but the prom never turns out like that. Most people go home, with broken nails and torn panty hose, hating themselves for spending too much money on an outfit they will never wear again and wishing they could have those 5 hours of their lives back that they spent prepping themselves for nothing. And the girls aren’t happy either.

9.) Julia Stiles. Can I please get some intonation? Your voice is as flat as your chest, for Greg Brady’s sake! If I was your director, I’d have someone slip a mild stimulant into your fake beer at the party scene…then maybe your intoxication would have seemed slightly more realistic. No wait…if I’d been the director, I wouldn’t have allowed you on set in the first place. My bad. And you call yourself an actress. For shame!

10.) And the 10th thing I hate about the movie 10 Things I Hate About You: It came out 11 years ago – which means I am old. Officially. And you are too, because you remember it as well as I do. It used to be so popular…just like we used to be young. I hate being reminded.

-Pokey

The 5 Products I Should Have Mass-Produced But Didn’t Because I am Lazy and There Was Too Much To Watch On TV Between 1995 and 2010.

I should have, but didn't. *Sigh* I could be rich by now.

1.) Sounds of the Ghetto: Available in CD, MP3 and Eight Track formats, this product will provide the comforting sounds of home for those who cannot be there.

Commercial:

You have heard of Sounds of the Seasons? How About Sounds of the Rainforest? Well, now, even our urban listeners will be able to fall asleep listening to the comfortable sounds of home be they in a foreign country, the suburbs or prison!! Yes, with Sounds of the Ghetto on your CD player tonight, you will drift off to dreamland with the warmth and comfort that only the sounds of big bass, rap music, 22-inch rims, police sirens and drive-bys can bring! So order today for the low, low, low price of $19.99 and we will throw in our other top sellers: Sounds of Afghanistan and Sounds of the Morgue for only $9.99 each! That’s cheaper than an ounce of the good stuff, a hocked Tommy Gun, or a black-market baby! (All orders subject to substitution at our discretion and if you are not home at delivery, your house will be robbed.)

2.) Baby “Oops I Did it Again!”: A baby doll for girls 10 and under and dirty old men that provides hours of realistic pooping with just one bottle of the Baby Oops I did it Again! Top-performance Doodie Maker (sold separately).

Commercial:

This Baby looks like Britney Spears, but smells like Danny Bonaduce after a night of boozing it up! Hours of fun for every girl who’s ever dreamed of being a mommy, LiLo’s personal assistant, or a CNA in a nursing home!! It’s Baby Oops I Did it Again!

Oh Baby Oops I Did it Again!
You pooped in your pants!
It smells like decay.
Oh Baby, baby.
Cleaning up is so fun,
What you shoot from your buuuuuuuuuuuum.
You Are Incontinent!

3.) The Weight Tazer: A wristband that detects the presence of fattening foods and electrically shocks the person wearing it when they come within 2 inches of such harbingers of obesity.

Commercial:

Can’t handle temptation? Tired of those annoying other ads that utilize B-List Celebrity spokespeople whose 15-minutes ended 15 years ago and then require you buy their tasteless food? No time for the gym, but tired of being a 2-ton heifer in a Kate Moss world? Well, look no further. Purchase the Weight Tazer and enjoy your life to the fullest like all the other skinnier and therefore more attractive and happier people!

Every time you reach for the Double Stufs or the Big Macs, you will get a shock of electricity that will render you completely unconscious and unable to remember your own name! By the time you wake up, you won’t feel hungry at all! As an added benefit, you will more than likely also lose control of your bodily functions, alleviating the need to purchase expensive at-home enemas and colon cleansers! The weight will fall off!

So purchase the Weight Tazer for the low price of $9.99 and taze those calories away!

(Warning: Could cause death, herpes, color-blindness or lead to the development of turrets, seizures, and naked visions of Dennis Hopper. Not available in Canada, Mexico or South Central L.A.)

4.) High School Drop-out Musical: A riveting musical based upon the lives of a group of High School Drop-outs! Teach your children that education isn’t everything

Commercial:

Iiiiiiiiit’s High School Drop-out Musical!! A movie the whole family can enjoy, starring Paris Hilton as Spacey, the late 20-something former head cheerleader raising her two illegitimate kids on a stripper’s salary; Zac Efron as Billy Bob, a gruff, yet lovable 16 year-old who left school freshman year to pursue his dreams of becoming a famous Rodeo Cowboy; Joe Jonas as Bobby Feelgood, a young Richard Branson-esque mini-mogul with a radio label and airline to his name at age 19; and Luke Perry, for no other reason than every good High School flick needs Luke Perry (playing an 18 year old cocaine addicted sanitation worker).

Your children will love the dancing, the excitement and learning about the amazing lives they could lead if they give up on the unrealistic belief that they will actually graduate from college and drop-out of high school!

Learn the words and sing along with the cast to such new classics as:

- “I’m down to My Last Dime and My Baby’s Gotta Eat – Calling on the WIC”
- “Let’s File for Unemployment Again!”
- “Tomorrow, Tomorrow, The Rent’s Due, Tomorrow”
- “Seasons of Ketchup”
- “Mothers Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Doctors”

A movie your whole family will enjoy and one that you cannot live without. With more and more teens dropping out of high school each and every day, why not show them how great their lives will be! Buy High School Drop-out Musical today for your high school drop-outs of tomorrow at the economical price of $19.99! (Economical means cheap.)

5.) Bernie Madoff’s Guide To Investing: An instructional guide to getting the most out of embezzled money.

Commercial:

Have you had it up to your armpits working 40 + hours a week for a salary that would make an indentured servant want to hand you a donation? Tired of actually having to get dressed to go work because your boss cancelled Naked Casual Fridays, calling it a liability? Want to know how to get back your life and secure your financial future? Read Bernie Madoff’s Guide to Investing and start controlling your own destiny today!

Don’t worry about not having your own money to invest – the beauty of Madoff’s system is that you will make millions using other’s people’s hard earned cash! In his long-awaited book,* Bernie Madoff tells you exactly how to develop your pitch to potential investors, how to transfer their money to your personal off-shore banking accounts, and how not to get caught! It’s almost too good to be true and 100% based on his own experiences as the now most hated man in America!

What are you waiting for? Get out there and sooner than you think, you too can be enjoying the fruits of embezzlement without the worry of 25 years to life! Even your children will benefit from this book by reading the chapter entitled: Lunch Money: Change You Can Believe In. Your whole family can’t lose!

Buy it for yourself, or your loved ones for Christmas or Hanukah and you will be the hit of Holidays! Plus, order now, and you will receive two amazing free gifts: Bernie’s second book, “A White Collar Prison Survival Guide,” plus, a plush Bernie Madoff stuffed toy. A $1.25 value for FREE!!

(All proceeds go to the Bernie Madoff Legal Defense Fund.)

* Publication was delayed due to the fact that the author was only given pencil and paper to write with while in prison and thus, all pages had to be transcribed at a later date

A History of Myself, By Me, Part 4: How I invented the internet

By now you know a lot about me: Who my real parents are, my adoption by Brangelina and subsequent return, my love of wine and hatred of Speidi and how I established democracy. But there are still some very important things you need to know. I also invented the Internet and came up with the name Titicaca. You are welcome.

They say a man by the name of J.C.R. Licklider came up with the Internet concept in the 1960's, calling it the Galactic Network, but I don't believe it. If that really were true, you think this urban legend would be about someone with a less ridiculous name than Licklider...please.

It was the summer of 1982 and I was not quite one year old. Back then, times were tougher than they are now and children had to grow up a lot faster.

Having already left school to pursue my goal of become a top baby model, I was playing with a telephone one morning in our super swanky suite at the Four Seasons awaiting the time to leave for my Gerber shoot. I would pick up the receiver and then put it down and then tap my fingers on the buttons. Yes, I had advanced dexterity for such a youngin. All of the sudden, it occurred to me that there should be a web of interconnected computers to allow for the free flow of ideas, almost simultaneous exchange of information the world over and easy access to concert tickets!

So I called my friend Radia Perlman and we, together, came up with the spanning tree algorithm to allow efficient bridging between separate networks. Obviously, without this innovation, the Internet would not be feasible. Then it was only a matter of applying Bob Kahn and Vint Cerf's Transmission Control Protocol and we were up and running.

Of course, I didn't get any notoriety for this because I couldn't let anyone know that I was a baby. They wouldn't have taken me seriously, even though by then I could have drunk anyone of them under the table without a hangover the next day and given anyone of them a verbal lashing the likes of which are unknown to English speakers with their measly 5-8 thousand word vocabularies. So, I muffled my voice with a handkerchief and went by the pseudonym William Henry Gates, III.

To settle another matter: Al Gore totally didn't invent the Internet. He didn't have time between being a 2-Term Number Two and inventing Global Warming. Plus, nobody this boring could possibly come up with something this exciting and useful. Bite me Al Gore. You can have your Go Green Campaign. I got the Google. Oh, and I totally threw a plastic bottle in the regular trash yesterday for spite. So there.

As far as the name Titicaca is concerned, let's just say I once met a cow in South America with a severe lactation anomaly...

-Pokey

Pokey's Celebrity Mug Shot Superlatives 2010

Ladies and Gentlemen:

After pouring through hundreds of celebrity mug shots (or maybe like 50)between bottles of wine at 8 am this morning, I decided to compile a list of the best and the brightest Hollywoodland has to offer for your viewing pleasure!

So, without further adieu, it is my pleasure to introduce Pokey's Celebrity Mug Shot Superlatives 2010!!


1.) Most Likely to Be Mistaken for a Child Molester (TIE: Andy Dick and Paul Reubens)




2.) Most Likely to Enjoy Prison Showers (Mac Culkin)



3.) Best Hair (TIE: Nick Nolte and Rip Torn)




4.) Most Likely to Convert Fellow Inmates to Christianity by Being Mistaken for Jesus (Kid Rock)



5.) Most Likely to Ask Cellmate for Help Changing Her Diaper (Lisa Marie Nowak)



6.) Most Likely to Be Shanked for Verbally Offending Every Minority Group in the Slammer
(Mel Gibson)



7.) Most Likely to Fail a Drug Test While in Prison (Lindsay Lohan)




8.) Most Creatively Decorated Cell (Martha Stewart)



9.) Most Likely to Change Name to Holly Go-Lucky and Become the Wife of a Lifer Named T-Rex (Shia LeBeouf)



10.) Most Likely to Win Prison Transvestite Beauty Pageant (Haley Joel Osment)



11.) Most Likely to Start an Illegal Rat Fighting Ring in Prison (Michael Vick)



12.) Most Likely to Establish Superiority by Finding the Biggest, Baddest Mo’ Fo’ in the Joint and Cutting Him or Her (Michelle Rodriquez)



13.) Most Needy Cellmate (Paris Hilton)



14.) Most Likely to Not Understand that She is Being Locked Up and Not at a Photo Shoot (Paris Hilton)



15.) Best Looking (Don Vito)



16.) Most Popular at Prison Socials(Snooki)



17.) Most Likely to Fall Into Obscurity Upon Release (Mischa Barton)

The Top 5 Top 3 Things About Wine

1. Top 3 Benefits of Drinking Wine:

1.) Wine won't get jealous if I decide to spend an evening with my other friends, beer and liquor.
3.) It makes me love everyone, even people I would generally avoid in social situations.
3.) Wine is much cheaper than therapy.

2. Top 3 Most Horrific Thoughts Upon Waking After A Night Of Wine Drinking:

1.) Where am I and who is this next to me?
2.) Did I really get into a bar fight with the entire cast of Broadway Series South’s Spamalot?
3.) Oh. My. God. I totally forgot to close out my tab and retrieve my credit card before I left the bar last night.

3. Top 3 Songs you should never sing karaoke to when you’ve drunk too much wine:

1.) “Dream On” by Aerosmith: Your falsetto is NOT made better by alcohol. And seeing how many people’s glasses will break in their hands is NOT a fun drinking game.
2.) Anything by Enya: Who can say whadywhattaday…does your hemphafango awizzwah. Seriously. Who knows the words sober?
3.) “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston: Um yeah, no explanation necessary with this one. We’ve all seen people do it and we have all felt very, very embarrassed for them.

4. Top 3 Signs You’ve Had Enough Wine for the Evening:

1.) You’ve drunk-dialed/texted everyone in your contact list, “Jez to say helllllllo.”
2.) You are convinced that you are the sexiest/funniest/most intelligent/most insightful person and best dancer in the room, who’s had the hardest life imaginable and you know everyone needs to hear about each and every minute of it.
3.) It’s 1:00 am on a work night and the bottle is empty, which makes you cry.

5. Top 3 Reasons Wine Can Lead to World Peace:

1.) When’s the last time Vatican City invaded anyone?
2.) Jesus kicked off his miracles by turning water into wine, which, right there, says enough.
3.) Two words: The French. Their army, I’ve heard, could be great in the initial strike but won’t last past noon when they set out a picnic lunch, open a few bottles of wine and eventually forget why they are there in the first place.

Now where's my Merlot and my snuggly?

-Pokey

Investigation: Chinese Conspiracy Uncovered!!

Ladies and gentlement, readers everywhere: I, Pokey, have uncovered a Chinese conspiracy to take over the US. This may be a shock – and you should be a feared – because this has been going on right under our noses for almost a century and in two waves.

The first wave of Chinese espionage targeted our most personal possessions – our laundry. Yes, the Chinese infiltrated our economy by opening up laundromats throughout the West Coast.

No, they weren’t just trying to help us live in a world with clean clothes and bounty-freshness. This plot was genius in its innocence. It was an attempt not only to answer the age old question of whether men prefer boxers or briefs, but also to rob America of its cotton and textiles in order to implode our infrastructure.

Ridiculous, you say? Well, how many of you have utilized laundromats only to wind up missing a sock here, a t-shirt there, or even an entire load of tighty whities? What self respecting blue–blooded American would steal someone else’s underoos? The Chinese did it, thus forcing you to go out and buy new ones. In so doing, they attempted to increase the demand for cotton whilst whittling away at the supply - a recipe for disaster.

If they’d been successful, farmers throughout the country would have been forced to grow cotton instead of other essential crops, like corn,tobacco and hemp. Eventually, the vital nutrients for its cultivation would be stripped from the soil from excessive planting and further cotton growth would be unattainable. The ramifications to our economy would be devestating, with corporate behemoths like Hanes and Fruit of the Loom going under. Where would Michael Jordan be then? We all know Americans can’t function without tag less shirts. That’s a fact.

Fortunately, most of the laundromats were opened in California, where socks and underwear aren’t worn on a regular basis. We narrowly escaped the assault on this front.

The Chinese aren’t done yet. They have developed an even more invidious plan to take over our country. This time, they are not focusing on our renewable resources, but, rather, our waistlines.

One word: Obesity.

By 2020, 75% of America will be overweight. The other 25% will live in Hollywood. Once the majority of this country is no longer able to physically defend themselves, the Chinese will strike, making Tiananmen Square look like child's play. I hope you like Communism and only children...

Tempting us with there General Tsao’s chicken, fried rice and their sweet and sour pork. Promising us “nutricious” take-out because we are all too lazy to cook. And then there’s the buffets…All you can eat and more than you ought – stripping us of our abilities to control portion sizes and turning us into gluttonous, slothful shadows of our former selves. And for what? $6.50 at lunch and $8.50 at dinner and on weekends. (Drinks not included.)

If Chinese food was really what they were eating in China, you’d assume there’d be more fat Chinese people. That’s common sense. I ask you then: Where are the obese Chinese people? Where, I ask you, where?!

Not only are the heavy sauces and super large portions controlling our destinies, but the food itself is made more fun to eat with those cutsie-wootsie chop sticks and “fortune” cookies. Do you know why the fortunes all have Chinese words on the back? Because by 2025, that’s the language we will be speaking.

Weaken our infrastructure and then take us over. Yep. That’s the plan. I mean, what the heck is MSG anyways and how do we know that there really is no MSG? ALL LIES!!!

And, they are doing this all the while they are taking advantage of our higher education system, training their future generations at our expense. How many non-Chinese graduate students are there in the quantum physics department at any major university throughout the US? NO more than 5. I guarantee it. And 3 of them are Russian.

I am on to you China – your methods are certainly clever. However, you can’t fool Pokey! Your schemes have been uncovered.

Wanton Soup my tail. You fail.

A Rant: Why I hate AF Pilots, Except for My Dad and Some Close Family Friends

Thank you, Mr. Tom Cruise. The movie Top Gun has turned fighter pilots into a different breed. 25 years after its release, society still romanticizes the profession. As a result, generations of geeks have grown up fantasizing about being fighter pilots in order to finally break out of their geekdom. Once achieved, *POOF* faster than Lindsay Lohan violates her probation, these social rejects transform into egomaniacs who love themselves more than they could ever love anyone else. They treat women like the crap they dragged in on the bottom of their shoes or like everyone else treated them in high school. My theory: Pilots are stuck in a child’s world and they seriously believe that he who plays with the best toys is the coolest kid in class. Grow up dudes.

As a service to all eligible women out there, with dreams of a man in uniform, I am here to debunk the myth of the Air Force Pilot and to save you from heartache. Hopefully, once word gets out, pilots will accept reality and stop searching for the trophy wife they feel entitled to have and realize that they are lucky of a nice, decent looking girl shows interest. Then maybe they will start treating women with some semblance of respect and get over their aggrandized visions of themselves. Namely: If we stop feeding the dog filet mignon, he’ll learn to appreciate porter house.

Ummmmm, they are not rich:

Unlike Pro Athletes, Actors, Doctors or Lawyers, who have the bank accounts to back up their egos, pilots are not and will never become rich in their chosen profession. Why? Because they are federal employees!! Trust me. Growing up, we didn’t live badly by any means, but we most definitely weren’t keeping up with the Kardashians or the Jones’s for that matter. When I wished for new soccer cleats, I got “Addydas.” Instead of clothes shopping at J. Crew or the Gap as a teen, I had to settle for WalMart and the Everything Under $12.00 store at the Outlet Mall. Seriously. Girls, don’t expect diamonds – you’ll get cubic zirconium.

Sure, they may have a nice ride now, but imagine stuffing 3 kids and a dog into their Corvette or their ueber-sized pick-em-up truck. Ain’t gonna happen. From the time I was born until the time I left for college, my dad drove 2 cars. One was a 1970-something Volkswagon Dasher and, when that finally keeled after 20 years on the job, a 1985 Honda Civic. My dears, the glitz and glam – out of financial necessity – will be replaced by the klunk and crap the minute you start poppin’ out chillins. So if you have dreams of being the Barbie doll wifey/Soccer mommy of a studly pilot with a fabulous Lexus, if you want your children to go to college, get over them now.

They overplay the danger in their jobs:

More Americans are killed by exploding 20 oz. Soda Bottles than pilots are killed every year. Although Top Gun brings to mind “Highway to the Danger Zone,” being a pilot isn’t really all that dangerous. The training these guys undergo is 1000 times more intense than an Intervention marathon. Here is a small list of jobs that are much more dangerous than being a pilot, but don’t get half the recognition:

1. Truck Driver
2. Prostitute
3. Underwater welder
4. Oil Rig Worker
5. Naomi Campbell’s housekeeper

They wear jumpsuits and helmets at work:

Many women are drawn to pilots because they think the “uniform” is sexy. Riiiiiiiight. The last time I saw a man in a one-piece, ill-fitting drab green outfit, he was picking up my trash. The last time I wore a one piece ill-fitting outfit, it had a cut out in the back for when I had to go poopie and footies. Yes, I am talking about PAJAMAS.

Needless to say, the boots that they wear with those outfits are hideous in their own right. The only time they have been in style in the modern era was during the 1990’s Seattle grunge phase. Admittedly, though, they do remain popular with Neo-Nazis the world over…

And if you think their style of dress gets better in the off hours, think again!! Having worn a uniform for most of their adult male life, many have failed to update their wardrobes since college (some even high school). So if the frat boy look or the Hooter’s T-shirt and (at one point in history, saggy, but now not so much) cargo shorts are your thing, have at it. I prefer more sophistication than that.

They are all, deep down, nerds attempting to “be all that they wished they could be”:

One in two pilots majored in engineering in college. I am not saying the boys ain’t smart, but, what I am saying is that enginerds are notorious for their lack of social skills. I dated a computer enginerd for 7 months. His idea of a fun night was sitting at his apartment, not talking, playing some online game. Of course, he had a mild form of autism, but most do. Sigh. The worst part is, pilots tend to try and overcome their innate nerdiness by acting like teenagers well into their 40’s. It’s like they are trying to experience what the popular kids experienced in high school when they were ostracized for having too many pimples and spent their weekends playing Dungeons and Dragons. Trying to have a meaningful or even superficial conversation with one is like trying to drive a car with an empty tank of gas – you get nowhere.

They all have the same jokes. Which may be funny the first 3000 times you hear them, but then lose their luster. Kind of like Jeff Foxworthy. They quote movies like “The Hangover” on a regular basis because watching guys be cool is as close as they ever will get to being cool themselves. Newsflash: The "coolest" pilot really is only the King of the Nerds, which isn’t really that great of an accomplishment.

You have little to look forward to:

The G’s they pull riding at supersonic speeds seriously does something to their digestive systems. My earliest sensory memory is of my dad’s squadron in England and how it always smelled of stale pizza and beer farts. At least the bed will be nice and warm in the winter…ever heard of a Dutch oven? I won’t even go into the “backne” which is exactly what it sounds like – back acne. 10,000 kinds of gross.

Furthermore, wearing a helmet for 20 years wreaks havoc on a hairline. Some women like bald men. Some women also like eating chalk. I like neither. The balding begins early in their 30’s and continues until they either shave their heads or join the Hair Club for Men. It’s like the hair migrates south towards their backs and they wind up resembling the fly. Not my cup-o tea.

The highlight of your married life will be receiving the Turkish rugs the men folk bring back from their TDYs to Incirlik. Though they look great, it takes about 6 months to get the stale cigarette smoke out of it and, once your house finally stops smelling like a seedy dive bar, they fall apart. Kind of like your hopes and dreams as you will have to give up any career you thought you’d have to follow your hubby from base to base and to raise his kids alone when duty calls.

Once retirement comes, don’t expect your pilot to retain the physique he maintained on active duty…not that pilots can really rival the Special Forces guys or any Marine, Army or Navy personnel for that matter. I’ve seen more than a few chubby wubbies in my day. At any rate, once retired, he will blow up, but will expect you to maintain. What good is eye candy if you don’t want to look at it?

Do what you want. Marry a pilot. At least you have months and months of separation to look forward to. After all, I am sure we all desire to be single parents, deep down.

The real irony is: These guys are trained to make life or death decisions but can’t make a commitment.

Over and out.

-Pokey

Investigation: Dead Celebrity Tweets

If dead celebrities could tweet, what would they say?? In order to find out, I channeled my psychic abilities and conversed with some of our fore-celebs to find out.

Here’s what I uncovered:

William Shakespeare: My tights rideth verily, causing me great sorrow. Alas and anon, I shall tweeteth again on the morrow!

Marilyn Monroe: Happy birthday, Mr. President!!! [I <3 :-O]

Elvis Presley: Am all shook up. Uh-uh huh. No, uh, banana for my, uh, pnut butter sandwich, uh.

Christopher Columbus: Word. Jez discvrd America! Pants on the Grnd!

Henry VIII: Ha. Knocked the head off another one of the wifeys! Ha! Am a very bad boy! Ha! Bring me a pheasant! ha!

Abraham Lincoln: @ the theater 2nite. Show’s bang’n!!!

Descartes: I tweet, therefore I am.

Adolf Hitler: Rflmao!! Goering, du fat sausage of a man, du. Oh mein kramp!

Jack the Ripper: Ha ha. A bit o’London street cleaning again tonight, Gov’na. Ha ha. Need a fork with the knife. Ha ha.

*John F. Kennedy: Anyone got any Tylenol?

Hermann Goering: Adolf is zuch zie absolute kard! Lol.

Joan Rivers: I am not dead. (Sorry, couldn’t tell. Love, Pokey)

*Marie Antoinette: My head is rofl!

*Anne Frank: Oh sum1s @ the door!

Ghandi: Am hella HUNGry today!!

Pokey

*Submitted by Saskwatch.

Fan Mail: The Kardashians

Dear Kardashians,

Kardashians, you are paradigms of virtue – beacons of integrity – unparalleled perfection in an imperfect world. When I watch your show on Entertainment Television, I can’t help but sit in awe of your natural beauty, intelligence and solid family foundation. I also think that Full House was the greatest show ever made, so I guess I am not the best for passing apt judgment…which I freely admit.

I understand being upset about your mother nipping out to puff a ciggie. I mean, smoking is an addiction and, as such, bespeaks a poor character. It is right for the rest of you to stand in judgment of her. It’s called tough love. Bravo. There are many other activities that one could undertake that speak so much more highly of oneself, such as getting a DUI and then violating your probation (Khloe); cheating on your significant other after they financially supported you while you pursued your Olympic dreams (Bruce); making a sex tape (Kim); having a baby with Scott Disick (so gross, so, so gross, Kourtney); or running up over $120,000 in charges on soul-singer Brandy’s mother’s credit after appearing with her son in the aforementioned sex tape and then refusing to pay her back (Kim, Khloe, and Kourtney).

I have some questions I would like to ask each of you. But, first, I would like offer some friendly advice to the KKK sisters (i.e. Kim, Khloe and Kourtney. What did you think I meant?)

Kim: Stop dating men whose egos are larger than their brains. I know your ego has to balance out your batookis, but if you continue to date guys who are on par with you in the ‘loving themselves’ realm of things, there will never be enough room for the both of you’s in the relationship – and certainly not for your “attributts.”

Khloe: There isn’t enough advice in the world...

Kourtney: Scott Disick. Really? I mean, the guy wears pink pants!! PINK PANTS! And I imagine he isn’t doing so to save the Ta-Tas. If there was ever a personification of all that is wrong in this country – the excess, the entitlement, the narcissism, Scott DiSICKO would be the forerunner for the title. Bottom line: If statutory rape laws were based on mental age, well, you’d have to register for life. Get over him.

Anyways, on to my questions. If you don’t mind, please respond by next Tuesday. I have things to do.

1. Kim: When you sit down, does it feel like you are sitting on pillows or two big rocks?
2. Khloe: Does it upset you that your sisters are so much prettier?
3. Kourtney: When exactly were you dropped on your head as a baby? Have you ever thought about suing your mother for your diminished intellectual capacity?
4. Kim: Do you have to wear special shoes so that you don’t tip backwards when you stand up?
5. Kourtney: Do you ever get dehydrated from all the crying you do?
6. Khloe: Has anyone ever told you that you look like a brunette Miss Piggy? If so, do you prefer to be likened to the muppet or the cartoon version?
7. Kris: Do you sleep in formaldehyde?
8. Bruce: I have to give you credit for going out in public. If I had your face, I would definitely avoid areas with small children. At any rate, when you get really angry, do you grow rapidly, tearing your clothes in the process and turn green?
9. Kourtney: When you dropped out of school in the 3rd grade, did you ever think about going back? What? You graduated from high school!?!?! My bad.
10. Kim: So my friend got a virus on his computer from watching your sex tape online. Does that mean you gave him an STD?
11. Kris: When you gave birth to Khloe, did the doctors smack you instead?

Thank you for your responses. See you on E!

-Pokey

P.S. The other day when I was peeking into your house, I wasn't stalking you. I was just trying to keep up with the Kardashians, which is what you told us to do in the first place. So please drop the restraining order. It's making me look bad. Thank you.

Dear Mexican Drug Cartels: Stop the Violence, Become a CEO

Dear Mexican Drug Lords,

It has come to my attention that the violence in re: Drug related squabbles in Mexico has reached an all-time high. More people are being senselessly murdered daily than watched the Season Premiere of Dancing with the Stars. So, in an effort to change the course and to make Mexico once again safe for burrito-loving, scantily clad, drunken Spring Breakers everywhere: Here I am, just a girl, sitting behind my laptop in the safety of parents' middle class neighborhood - far, far away from the border - asking all the Mexican Drug Lords to please stop the violence (and if you happen to have a great Margarita recipe, please send it this way as well).

I think there is a better way to earn money without having to kill people as well as to minimize the stress in your own lives. As a Mexican Drug Lord, you are on call 24/7. You have to hire more security than the President of the United States to make sure that you are not offed. And even that doesn’t necessarily mean you won’t find yourself being thrust against your will into a The Most Dangerous Game scenario and your head eventually displayed in someone’s den like a trophy next to the heads of deer, rhinos and various members of the family elephantidae.

Think about it. Capitalism is much better. If I were you, I would channel some of that creative energy you use to come up with new and exciting ways to torture your enemies into some legitimate and socially acceptable means of earning an honest living. There are so many benefits that one derives from legal pursuits. I am sure Puff Daddy would agree with me 100%.

Instead of a “cartel,” you’d have an “entourage,” which is so much more acceptable. All the good actors, divas and rap stars have them. Or, if you are tired of people, adopt about 50 dogs from the humane society and have them follow you around all day. Basically it’s the same thing: they kiss your butt and you give them handouts. Much cheaper though. Instead of Krystal and VIP lounges, you’d just have to provide kibbles and poop space. Plus, if a dog starts giving you trouble and urinates on your carpet or eats your favorite loafers, it’s okay to euthanize him.

Let’s look at this rationally. If you were CEO of a large multi-national corporation, sure you’d have to pay income tax, but if you were ever ousted by some backstabbing corporate climber, you’d have your golden parachute to make sure you landed safely on the other side – and, even more important, you’d still have your life! See, “backstabbing” in the corporate world doesn’t literally mean you’ll be stabbed in the back. It’s just a term. Look at Michael Ovits, after 14 months on the job, he got fired from Disney and walked away with a $140 million severance package. Yeah, he was whistling “When You Wish Upon a Star” – all the way to the bank. Even Tony Hayward, former CEO of BP amidst the Gulf Oil spill walked away with $1.6 million after only 3 years on the job as well as a $17.6 million pension. Say it with me: Ri-donk-u-lous.

Instead of calling out hits, you’ll spend your time holding super important teleconferences complete with coffee and bagels from your swank Manhattan office overlooking Central Park or Wall Street. You’ll be able to wear a horrific toupee and no one will say anything to you. And, if you “fire” someone, you won’t have to worry about leaving any fingerprints or ballistics testing because “firing” doesn’t actually entail pulling a trigger!

Your love life will also reap the rewards of you going straight. Instead of a wife or mistresses who only stay with you because they like having all their toes and other essential body parts, you’ll attract more “respectable” women. These women will be with you for your money alone, not because they want to live past age 50. (Word of warning: Pre-nup, Pre-nup, Pre-nup.)

How does one go straight after living a life of danger? Simple. Replace your guns with striped ties. Replace your bullet proof vests with 3 piece Armani suits. Replace your thugs with secretaries – oops, “assistants,” if you want to be PC, which you will need to be from now on. Sexual harassment suits are a biddy.

If you need some help tailoring your resume, then look no further. I have some great ideas on how to do so in order to effectively sell yourself and land the best job possible. Example:

Prior Work Experience

Position, Drug Lord: CEO, Family-Run Business, International Exporter of Locally Grown, Organic Herbs

- Oversaw manufacture and mass export of cocaine/marijuana/Viagra: Lead executive responsible for overseeing entire product development process, from manufacture to shipment.
- Had minions graffiti neighboring villages and break the legs of competitors/drug addicts who bought from someone else or decided to go to rehab: Implemented successful marketing schemes leading to an exponential increase in sales and client retention.
- Waged all-out turf war against rival cartels, leading to the violent deaths of hundreds of innocent persons caught in the cross-fire: Utilized corporate mechanisms in order to alleviate overcrowding in neighboring urban districts and to advance position of company in emerging markets.

Position, Drug Cartel Higher –Up: Vice-President of Operations

- Recruited drug mules to swallow balloons full of cocaine in order to smuggle them across the border without concern as to the health risks posed: Coordinated mass exportation of product through most cost-effective means
- Bribed local government officials: Headed legal compliance department.
- Kidnapped wealthy businessmen to hold for ransom and then executed them anyways: Developed comprehensive strategies to hedge primary profit outgrowths against unforeseen environmental detriments.

Position, Lackey: Corporate Support Personnel

- Chased down people who had wronged the cartel and gutted them like a fish, throwing their bodies into the Guadalupe River: Responsible for direct client communication in furtherance of the corporate mission leading to the successful resolution of problematic exchanges.
- Hacked into FAA computers to develop flight path for outgoing planes full of narcotics: Provided technical assistance for the initiation of essential transport procedures.
- Carried out hits on middlemen who failed to remit percentage of profits in timely fashion: Executed efficient collections procedures on overdue accounts, facilitating the recovery of earned profits.

Remember, only you can prevent drug related executions!

-Pokey

A Rant: Debunking the Myth of the Pink Book

An oldie but a goodie. Something I wrote back in the day that Dad saved on the ol' computer for just such an occassion.

DEBUNKING THE MYTH OF THE PINK BOOK

Beware of books with pink covers. Stay far away from them. Hence, "always judge a book by its cover." What sort of books am I referring to, you may be wondering. Well, I will gladly tell you. I am referring to the new genre of neo-feminist propaganda heralded in by the publishing of Helen Fielding's Bridget Jones' Diary and the ensuing hype as well as the torrential downpour of other such copycat books inaptly afforded the whored-out title 'literature.'

I admit, I found the books amusing. I found the witty cynicism of the "heroines" inspired and contemplative. At least, until I truly began to unwind the enigma known as the pink book.

There are thousands of them at present. In every book store throughout the world you find them, smugly sitting beside one another in their shiny pink jackets, willing the millions of lonely 20 and 30 something females to take them home in order to provide entertainment for yet another lonely Friday or Saturday night. We devour their tales, sympathizing with their plights, feeling as if the sky had opened and created a tale of our own lives to be sold en mass at Barnes and Nobles. Each book is the same, yet we buy them expecting each one to relate to us in a special way. We are sadly disappointed.

Let's take the founding mother of the movement herself, Bridget Jones, and dissect her to her most barren core. First and foremost, Bridget Jones is a supposedly heavyset women of average intelligence working at a dead end job and dreading the exposure of her singleness in a society of married couples as well as her eventual spinster death and eating by wild dogs. What woman in my situation wouldn't relate to that? That is the Bridget Jones myth. Let's examine the reality.

I am sure many of you are familiar with the film version wherein Renee Zellwegger portrays the part of our friend with pizazz and heart warming honesty. Excuse me but BULLCRAP! The visual picture of Bridget Jones is forever completely obscured. Granted, Renee gained 30 pounds to tackle the role, but I am convinced that 25 of it was in her boobs. In no way shape or form is the acceptable image of Bridget Jones near what I would equate with any of the following terms: obese, fat, tubby, plump, heavy set, healthy (well, maybe), overweight, etc. In fact, I am personally of the opinion that our Renee looked a thousand percent more appealing 30 pounds heavier than she did in the filmatic remake of the Broadway musical Chicago.

Secondly. Our friend Bridget is only of average intelligence. HARDLY!! I don't know about you, but I had to read the novel with a dictionary at my side. Her vocabulary falls only slightly short of making a Harvard professor blush and I don't mean the newly arrived Chinese Nuclear Quantum Chemical Engineering with a Partridge in a Pear Tree Physics professor either. She spells better than at least one well known Vice-President of the United States and is far more eloquent than our last Commander-in-Chief (metaphorically speaking of course.)

Now, if she looked like Margaret Thatcher, Hillary Clinton, Madeline Albright or Janet Reno, than it really wouldn't make a bit of difference how intelligent or witty she was. However, she doesn't. She looks like the woman who stole Tom Cruise’s heart in Jerry McGuire and that, complemented by her proven intelligence, makes for a killer combination.

How can I feel sorry for her now? I don't look like Renee Zellwegger. Hell, Bridget Jones is far smarter than I so what do I have to look forward to? Here is where the greatest lie that entraps my fellow women comes into play. If life were based on a pink book, we would all be able to find top-notch jobs, tell off sexist, daft, egocentric aggrandized versions of Hugh Grant, and float away to the embrace of highly respected, wealthy, romantic barristers with hearts of gold resembling Colin Firth. Poor, poor Bridget. It must have been terrible to be forced to choose between the two. The last time I had two men fighting over me was when I taught preschool. I was 22 and they were 4. Sadly, due to the immense difference in age and interests (I liked drinking alcohol and going out late at night, they had bedtimes before prime time viewing ended and were only allowed caffeine on the weekends), I was unable to take either up on their offer of unconditional love and half of their cookies at lunchtime.

I guess what it boils down to in the end is that no matter how tragic life may seem for the women in the pink books, they always come out on top. Maybe the authors are just being optimistic, or maybe they are just setting up a sequel which will ensure that their vast empire of "female literature" will remain intact and the hard earned cash of millions of single women who are under the false impression that, they too, have a chance at true love will keep flowing in.

Another theory is that the authors feel guilty for getting our hopes up and write sequels to knock our heroine down and level the playing field a little. Who am I kidding, the sequels have happy endings as well. Maybe the whole reason I am writing this is because I am an embittered, cynical dramatist who thinks the whole world is conspiring against me. Maybe, but, then again, maybe not.

So all you Bridget Jones’/Prada wearing devils/shopaholics out there – your myth has been debunked.

- Pokey

Child Raising Guide: Pokey Style

For some reason today I started to think about where to go for important information about how to raise babies should I ever have any of my own, which is doubtful (tick-tock goes the biological clock). I’d rather adopt older kids who are potty trained and sassy from day one. Besides, even with all the books out there, I am pretty sure any child of mine (and most children anyways) will wind up on a couch complaining that he was never loved enough, or that I dropped him when he was a baby in order to catch the ping pong ball before it bounced into obscurity during a tense game of Beer Pong.

How can parents avoid such a scenario in spite of the fact that they abide religiously by contemporary child rearing guides? I started thinking about how much I wanted a Starbucks Iced Coffee and then about idioms and what they can teach us about how we should raise our kids. I googled baby idioms and found a cornucopia of knowledge that remains as yet untapped. Like finding oil in the Gulf and then sharing it with all the sea life and beach dwellers in Louisiana, Florida and Mississippi, I knew I had to share this with the world.

Who needs “What to Expect” when you can learn everything you need to know by paying attention to what you already know, i.e. the vernacular.
So, in the spirit of pedagogy, I have assembled a few of the most informative baby idioms for all you parents and parents-to-be out there.

1.) To be left holding the baby:

Actual Meaning: to suddenly have to deal with a difficult problem or responsibility because someone else has decided they do not want to deal with it.

What it Can Teach You: One night stand?? No SIR!! Who wants to be a single parent when the father (or mother) jets? You think it’s hard to roll over at 4:00am when the baby monitor blares that shrill cry of utter despair and say “Honey, it’s your turn?” Try being the one who has to actually get out of bed and stumble to poor little Apple or Starlet or whatever trendy name you’ve burdened the kid with until it’s old enough to legally change it to something normal like Mike or Monica. What this is is a recipe for bitterness and sleep deprivation that will lead directly to your child feeling unloved. Valium, anyone? Not that single parents are destined to mess their children up – there are some amazing ones out there. But the Legion of Doom was much better as a tag team. You can’t argue with that.

2.) To cry like a baby

Actual Meaning: to cry a lot.

What it Can Teach You: Babies cry! That’s what they do. Embrace it. Sure, it sucks when the babe begins to scream in the middle of church, at a restaurant, in Walmart, at the DMV, in the hair salon, at the dentist, or while you and your spouse or significant other are finally enjoying an evening alone after 6 continuous months of dirty diapers, feedings, projectile vomiting and forgetting your own name. Trust me. Eventually you will come to regret not enjoying it when their cries of need turn into whines of complaining and mono-syllabic snarks of independence. Or when they confide in Dr. Phil on national television that they felt you neglected their needs and that’s why they are now addicted to internet gambling.

3.) The baby blues

Actual Meaning: a feeling of sadness that some women experience after they have given birth to a baby.

What it Can Teach You: The effects of having a baby on a woman’s body are substantial. Once you have given birth and the excitement of the arrival of your spawn has died down, you may begin to long for those bygone days when you actually looked good in jeans. It’s okay to cry. The baby blues are therefore a normal grieving process. Please don’t use them as an excuse to drown your own children.

4.) To throw the baby out with the bath water

Actual Meaning: to get rid of the good parts as well as the bad parts of something when you are trying to improve it.

What it Can Teach You: The entire idiom states “don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.” The operative word being “don’t.” Apparently, this isn’t a good idea, no matter how often the baby cries or poops itself. Just say no. On the other hand, the idiom also charges parents with the task of bathing their children. Who wants to be the parent of the kid who smells like a putrid piece of donkey liver dragged through manure and baked in the hot sun for 12 hours? When your kid comes home crying because all the other kids at school are calling him or her Stinky Poopipants, start looking for a good therapist.

5.) To wet the baby's head

Actual Meaning: to celebrate the birth of a baby by having an alcoholic drink.

What it Can Teach You: After 9 months of faithful abstinence, it is perfectly acceptable to get hammered. The happiest parents are the drunkest parents. So do your part and be the happiest one of all! And I know this because I have never seen more happy people than the 5000 drunks dancing on tables and hugging strangers in the Hofbrau Haus beer tent at Oktoberfest. I firmly believe that we could have world peace if UN delegates were required to be soused at meetings.

6.) As bald as a baby's backside

Actual Meaning: completely bald.

What it Can Teach You: A baby's backside is really just a glimpse into the future for most men. I think that is why fathers spank their children harder than mothers. Well, maybe not anymore because Social Services will take your kid away faster than UNC cut ties from John Edwards if there is any evidence that you could be hitting your child. But, in the 1980’s, spanking was all the rage. I am sorry that men lose their hair and spend the rest of their lives debating whether to wear a toupee, join the Hair Club for Men, get plugs, wear a hat, or become a recluse. At the end of the day though, it isn’t your kids’ faults. Single men lose their hair too! Bottom line: Don’t take the inevitable out on your kid. The money you save on future therapy can totally get you a super legit looking head carpet.

7.) As weak as a baby

Actual Meaning: Cliché [of someone] physically very weak.

What it Can Teach You: Babies apparently are not born with super human strength. Shocking, I know. I have heard countless tales from people I have never met and probably made up, of memories from their childhoods wherein their parents forced them to lift the car when daddy needed to do an oil change or to pull the dream trailer to the home lot in order to save the $100 delivery fee. Seriously, people. Four year olds should not be required to do your heavy lifting. Hire a mechanic or a forklift. I don’t even need to elaborate the ramifications of this practice on your child’s future psychological state.

8.) To sleep like a baby

Actual Meaning: to sleep very soundly.

What it Can Teach You: Babies are supposed to sleep soundly through the night from the get-go, otherwise, there wouldn’t be a whole idiom about it. If yours doesn’t, then there is probably something wrong. Your child has ADHD. I am sorry to have to be the one to tell you. Call your pediatrician as soon as you are done reading my blog and get your baby hopped up on medication as soon as is humanly possible. Is this a contradiction of everything else I have said thus far? Maybe. But I’m not Dr. Spock, so I can’t be sure.

Thanks goes out to http://idioms.thefreedictionary.com/baby, without which this post would not be possible.

-Pokey

Fan Mail: Steve Buscemi

Where have you gone, Steve Buscemi? Jesus loves you more than you will know. Woah Woah Woah. Seriously, where are you? I feel like you haven’t graced the big screen in years with your presence. I miss you, kid.

Remember when you were cut in Wilmington, N.C., in front of a then-unknown-Vince Vaughn and by someone my brother was acquainted with during his crazy college days (my brother’s, not Stabber McGutterstein’s)? Shedding blood in a dive bar in an obscure state ties you to that state for life. You are practically a North Carolinian. That makes you my family. I worry about my family when I don’t see them regularly.

You enchanted me as part of the Adam Sandler troupe in such amazing fetes of comedy as Big Daddy, Billy Madison, and Mr. Deeds. You were totally believable as the nicotine-addicted, ex-crack head therapist alongside Sandra Bullock in 28 Days. From your earliest films, to your dabbles in drama, you have always been the best character actor in Hollywood. I am sorry if you have felt under appreciated.

You are quite possibly the ugliest actor to ever sign a Hollywood Contract. With your skinny physique that would make a Next Top Model jealous, to your jacked up teeth – the envy of all West Virginians, you gave America the one thing that politicians and philanthropists have failed to provide: real hope.

Hope that ugly people, too, can make it in the most superficial industry the world-over. Hope that talent can overcome physical deformities and a receding hairline and, finally, hope that Adam Sandler’s movies could actually be comically redeemed. Thank you.

I miss you. I didn’t know your name until 2007, 20 years after your first role, but, at the very least, I liked you. I really liked you. Come back.

- Pokey

Interview Tips to Land the Job of Your Dreams!

For all of you job seekers out there, you know the stress that comes with the interview process. You meet the recruiter and size him or her up, realizing that he or she is the Gate Keeper to the job of your dreams, or at least one that will pay the bills. When researching interview strategies, each and every source makes it a point to stress how important it is to stand out. They then go on to suggest answers to the most common interview questions – and they are all the same. So, how can you stand out?

Don’t follow the advice you read. Follow mine.

Recruiters are trained and paid to read between the lines of what you say. So let’s put THEM to the test and see if they are doing their job. Here are 3 of the most common interview questions and the answers that I think will set you apart from the other 250 gajillion applicants for the same position.

DISCLAIMER: I do not promise that you will get the job if you use my suggestions. In fact, you will probably be blacklisted and will never again get an interview. However, so long as the government keeps extending unemployment benefits, you should be okay.

Question #1: How do others describe you?

Best Answer: I am amazing in bed.

Never in the history of answers can five small words say more about you and why you are highly qualified for any job on the planet. What do these words really mean? Well, here are just a few of the many qualities a good recruiter will derive from those words, assuming he or she can read between the proverbial lines.

What it says about you:
A. I play very well with others.
B. I am willing to go all night to get the job done right.
C. I can both take direction and anticipate what is needed from me.
D. I am willing to try new things and am innovative enough to come up with a few of them on my own.
E. And, finally, the clincher: I can please even the toughest clients.

Question #2: Tell me about your greatest weakness.

Best Answer: I can’t cook.

Although this answer may lack the raciness of the last, it is still a great answer. Most people try to turn a weakness into a strength or choose something benign and then elaborate on how they’ve taken steps to fix it. Trust me, it won’t work. Everyone and their mother attempts this and recruiters are prepared to call your bluff. An example: Sometimes I focus too much. That answer is about as convincing as a used car dealer telling you that the 1993 Cadillac with rims, fuzzy dice thrown over the rear view mirror, and bullet holes on the side was only driven by a little old lady to get to church on Sundays. I say, why not state a weakness that doesn’t need to be fixed! Again, if the recruiter is doing his or her job, prepare to sign the work contract.

What it says about you:

A. I have never had the time to learn to cook because I have been so focused on my education/career.
B. I won’t mind eating dinner at my desk, purchased from the snack machine in the lobby, because it is probably better than anything I could make at home.
C. My refrigerator is really just a holding cell for beer, white wine and Lean Cuisines, which means I have nothing to go home to anyways, so why not work.
D. I could care less about involving myself in activities that take time away from work and could possibly be relaxing. I’d much rather throw myself into my career and sacrifice my personal life as well as my health. Eventually, I will die of a stress-induced heart attack, but not before giving you the best 20 years of my life. Of course, this will occur before I reach retirement age, which will save the company thousands of dollars as I will never tap into my pension.

Question #3: Why do you want to work for this company?

Best Answer: I had a vision and in it, God told me to work here.

How could they turn you down? God commanded it.

What it says about you:

A. You are the chosen one.
B. You are quite possibly delusional, which means you are both highly creative and will be a lot of fun at the office Christmas party.
C. You can turn the Culligan bottle into wine, thus making casual Fridays even more awesome then when employees where first allowed to wear jeans and polos.
D. Not hiring you could result in either a plague or a swarm of locusts descending upon the office, which legal ramifications the company will be unable to absorb.

I hope this helps all you job searchers out there! Even if you don’t get the job, I guarantee that you will be among the most memorable, if not the most memorable, interviewee the recruiter has ever met.

Cheers.

- Pokey

A History of Myself, By Me Part 3: How I am Personally Responsible for the Creation of Democracy

As a very humble person, probably the humblest of the humble (I make Ghandi look like Tom Cruise), I have often quarreled with myself over whether I should or should not admit the obvious. I have come to the conclusion that, after over 2500 years, it is time that the world knows the truth:

I, Pokey, invented Democracy.

There, I said it. I feel much better now. Like a weight has been lifted off my chest. No, wait, that was just my cat getting up from the nap she decided to take on my torso. At the least, admission is step one in the process of recovery. So how did it happen that I brought forth the one and only true form of government? (Sorry all you Dictators, Socialists, Communists, and Monarchs out there. You suck and you Dictators suck about 10,000 times more than the others. And Prince William is balding prematurely. So there.)

Well, here is how:

I was playing outside one day when I was seven. My brothers and sister weren’t around for some reason so I was attempting to play four-square on my own. Note to all: It doesn’t work. Anyways, so this old man pulls up next to me and says he has candy and puppies in his car.

The guy looked like the love child of Einstein and Della Reese, but had a friendly enough face. Of course, my parents had told me to never, ever get into a stranger’s car without first asking the secret code word we’d developed (Napolean – not Bonaparte, but rather a large shaggy mutt we’d inherited from my grandmother), but I’d had a hard day and needed a Snickers. So I climbed into his car. Before I knew what hit me, he plugged the year 508 BC into some machine on the center console and sped off at speeds that would have him taking the Pole at the Indy 500.

The next thing I knew, we were somewhere I’d never been, surrounded by men wearing bed sheets in the style of the Toga. Not normal for 1988, unless you lived in a Fraternity House.

“Welcome to Greece, don’t drink the water,” the man said.

I was talking with Cleisthenes one day. I’d been in Athens about 16 minutes by then. And he was expressing his desire to revamp the Athenian Constitution following the downfall of Isagoras and to establish a new form of government that would allow more people to participate in the decision-making process and to provide a platform for the development of competing media interests. I thought about it for awhile and realized that America in the future had such a form of government! Not only that, but we also had fast-food and an obesity epidemic. I figured that was exactly what Clei – as I called him – was getting at.

I suggested that he establish such a form of government in Athens because it was much better than anything else and, plus, the losers in each election could be fed to lions. (I added that because it seemed more exciting than a conciliatory speech). He loved the idea.

When it came time to name this new form of government, he originally wanted to call it “Cleimocracy.” I told him that sounded a little too egocentric and suggested “Democracy” instead.

Some people claim that the word is derived from the Greek word “dēmokratía,” meaning “rule of the people.” However, that is a misconception. It is really a product of my own mind and stems from my desire to make it exceedingly clear that all other forms of government are ridiculous. So, “Them other forms are crazy” was shortened to “Dem others crazy”, which was then shortened to “Democracy.” It’s a historical fact.

Thus, Cleisthenes eventually became known has the Father of Democracy while I got a swizzle stick and a pat on the head for my efforts. This goes to show that, no matter what, the people in power will get all the credit even though it is always the underlings who do all the work. I'm not bitter - much.

After Clei and I had worked out the logistics, the old man who had brought me there ran at me in a frenzy. He was holding two jugs of wine as he was being chased by shopkeepers yelling “STOP, THIEF!”

“Pokey!” he called out, “It’s time to go back to the future!”

As we jumped back into the car, I shouted one last word of warning to Clei, “Beware of the Ides of March! Oh, and don’t hire young female interns named Monica!”

As we arrived, safely, back in 1988, the old man dropped me off in front of my house. He warned me never to speak of this to anyone. I promised I would never tell a soul.

I guess I lied.

And now you know the rest of the story.

-Pokey

Health Alert: 20 oz Soda Bottles that Are Too Hard to Open (AKA Why cans are better)

Let me start off by saying: I hate scare-media, in fact, I tend to do the opposite of what the Evening News tells me to do – for principle, naturally. While TV broadcasts and newspapers droned on and on about the Swine Flu or the Anthrax, I made it a point to lick handrails and open suspicious mail. However, this time I must make an exception. Read on.

It has come to my attention that there is a new health risk that directly affects 99% of non-Amish America: 20 oz. Soda Bottles. Indeed, horrific and sensational statistics developed from the mind of yours truly following minutes of careful and tedious reflection while watching Monday night football conclude that more Americans are injured by 20 oz. soda bottles than are eaten by gangs of angry mutant ninja turtles each year or than get their news from any other source.

The perils of 20 oz. soda bottle use are many. If shaken, the top could be blown from the base of the bottle all together. The trajectory of its launch could lead to eye loss. Worse yet, if the drink is accidentally/purposefully shaken too hard, the whole thing could go, creating a mushroom cloud above Cincinnati that makes Hiroshima look like a day in the park. The destruction from the explosion and subsequent firestorm is just too awful to describe. I just hope that there are no women with breast implants within a 20-mile radius of the epicenter.

Even worse, the bubbly goodness could fizz up as you open the bottle, causing the liquid to completely soak your shirt as you head to interview for your dream job, leaving you with a soiled appearance and no time to change. Long story short: You don’t get the job and within 6 months have to file for bankruptcy and spend the rest of your working life selling string door to door. The boy or girl you thought was “the one” dumps you and moves in with your former best friend. A la Bridget Jones, you wind up alone and eaten by wild dogs. No one finds you or even attempts to look for you until the stench permeating from your apartment becomes unbearable.

You might laugh and say, “Lol. O-M-G. That would never happen to me.” (Oooh, I rhymed!) That, my friend, would be a mistake. What do you think is the real reason there are so many out of work individuals in this country? Think about that the next time you watch the news, sponsored in part by Pepsi…

All those things would make a bad day worse. But the most horrific injury of all occurs when the factory attaches the cap too tight, making it almost impossible to twist off. You spend hours in agony attempting to open the bottle in order to indulge in the sweet, sweet nectar that is contained within. You grunt and you turn. You scream and you turn. Nothing works. You try switching hands or putting the thing between your knees, or you give up altogether and slam the top on the counter in a last-ditch attempt to knock the seal loose and are again denied.

You throw the whole zeug in the trash can (unrecyclable because it contains liquids), thereby killing the planet and wasting $1.49 + tax as well as the opportunity to win a free soda if your secret code (which you can’t see because it is located under the cap) is a winner. Any way you go at it, you wind up tearing off half of the skin on your hand and bleeding like a stuck pig. Congratulations, you also now must deal with carpel tunnel the rest of your miserable, caffeine denied existence.

I wonder: If the soda companies had placed a larger version of the 20 oz cap on the Gulf Oil Rig, would there have been a leak? Hmmmm. Deep thoughts.

It is time we stand up against this offense to humanity known as the hard screw. Demand that soda bottles come from factories reasonably able to be opened. Be vigilant and remain on the lookout for people attempting to open these bottles and stop them before it is too late! Do your part to make this great nation of ours once again safe for soda drinkers!

Join me, friends! I want to live in a country where I can enjoy carbonated beverages without fear of death or bodily harm! I want my soda! In a can!

-Pokey

Fan Mail: Andrew Zimmern

Dear Mr. Andrew Zimmern, Host of Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern:

Your food choices are as bizarre as the name of your show suggests. However, what I find to be more bizarre is the look you get on your face right before you shove live bugs, putrid maggot meat or cow dung soup in your mouth. At first I couldn’t put my finger on it, but after staying up for 72 hours meditating on the issue and cutting my toenails, I figured it out. It’s the same look that Hannibal Lector gave Clarice when he said, “I ate his liver with a side of fava beans and a nice Chianti.” Scaaaaaary. The food is already freak nasty enough – perhaps tone down the facial effects.

So you have totally made a career out of travelling to obscure locations and scoffing down so called “delicacies” that the Department of Health would ban from being served in the US. You have probably been exposed to more diseases than hours the media spent covering the dreaded Swine Flu. I am sure your intestines are a thriving cesspool of dysentery and salmonella. But you haven’t keeled over yet! Mad props.

I think it’s time to add another element to your show, though. The squeamish factor can really only get you so far. To make things a little more interesting, I propose that you and Samantha Brown have a smack down UFC style. Instead of normal things like mud, pudding or jello, you could hold the match in a pit of mezcal-soaked agave worms or skewed crickets! That way, when you pin her (or vice versa) you can shove those protein-enriched, low fat treats in her face!

Sure she’s like 5 ft. tall and probably weighs as much as your left arm (or less), but I hear the girl is freakishly strong. This one time she took down a whole tribe of Aborigines on a trip to the Australian outback – blind folded, with both arms tied behind her back while Irish Dancing to the Purple Rain Soundtrack. They tried to steal her Shrimp on the Barbie. In fact, she’s been known to pull broken down Tour Busses and regional jets full of complaining retirees wearing white Reeboks and counting the hours until the expiration of their here-and-now safely to mountain-top destinations. I believe she holds the record for on-time arrivals and doesn’t charge extra for checked luggage. (Take that airline industry.)

At any rate, my suggestion (in summary form): Less face, more fight. Samantha Brown is a must.

-Pokey

A Rap Song in Memoriam of the Recent 14th Anniversary of the Death of Tupac Shakur (To the Tune of Bah Bah Black Sheep)

Tupac, Tupac
Are you really dead??
Yes, sir. Yes, sir.
T’was three bullets to my head.

One for P Master;
One for my dame;
One for my homies who roughed up Baby Lane.

Tupac, Tupac
You ain’t really dead.
You got me. You got me.
I’m undercover with the Feds.

I knew it.

RIP Mr. Tupac Shakur (June 16, 1971 – September 13, 1996)

- Pokey

A Rant: Prescription Commercials and Side Effects, What's the Point?

Let me just say that I find it ridiculous how prescription drug commercials must include all potential side effects in the 30 seconds the commercial is on TV. Even if such affects have never occurred but there could maybe possibly be a .0000000001% chance that it could happen to someone who was born with translucent skin and curly flourescent pink hair.

I seriously think I end up knowing more about the potential negative effects than what a drug is actually designed to do. We’ve all seen these commercials. They terrify me and not just because the acting is awful and the dialogue is on par with “Debbie Does Dallas,” but because I now fear pills – even Tylenol – because I am afraid I will wake up the day after taking one with some unrelated terminal illness. I had a headache and now I have the Ebola Virus and heartburn. Dun dun dun. Case in point:

A group of late 20-something women are at some big city elitist club, sipping their cosmos and having the same discussion I have at least 5 times a day, every day, with my friends about the horrific bloating and unrelenting cramping that accompanies our monthly cycles. Anyhoo, one of the women – who is always an M.D. – excitedly tells her friends that if they take X Drug, they will only have their periods one to three times a year with some spotting in between!! Sounds great! Wrong. The next 18 seconds are spent as the Dr. Doolittle calmly warns her friends that not only will X Drug curb the effects of Aunt Flo’s monthly visit, but could also lead to more cramping/bloating/fatigue/sexual inadequacy/psychosis/the growth of a second head/blackouts followed by public indecency. Then the name of the drug appears on the screen juxtaposed over a scene of the women booty grinding and with a further admonishment to consult one’s doctor before starting use. Of course. I should definitely consult my doctor because I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT THE DRUG IS ACTUALLY INTENDED TO DO!

So many of the side effects are either completely unrelated to the issue the drugs combat or are even more horrible. Seriously. Who wants to buy a drug to relieve, say, arthritis that can cause impotency? The worst is when the drug could potentially worsen your condition or even CAUSE the condition. “Take the Pill once a week to prevent pregnancy. Warning: May cause a Kate Gosselin style pregnancy and subsequent disconnect from reality.” There are even some side effects that can make an otherwise normal appearing person resemble a Star Trek character – one of the ugly ones with more limbs than sense. Though, thinking about all the cool things I could do with a third arm, like brush my teeth, make a sandwich and conduct an orchestra all at the same time, kind of makes me want to risk it…

Even things as benign as chewable vitamins for kids could cause chest hair growth and bowel irritability. Of course, I made this up, but it’s possible. Imagine your child popping those delicious Flinstones’ Chewables in order to get those essential growth vitamins denied to them by strict diets of Twinkies and Chicken Nuggets and subsequently resembling an incontinent Saskwatch. Forget potty training and buy stock in wax.

It’s no wonder that “performance enhancing” drugs aren’t widely advertised – at least on television. Talk about freak nasty. Such disclosures would require that commercials be rated and they would definitely be NC-17. It would, however, give women who are hit on by muscle bound Neanderthals the upper hand: “I would go out with you Billy Bob, but I happen to know that those muscles are completely unobtainable without scientific assistance. And I also happen to know that you are probably struggling with mood swings and a diminished libido and that the increase in the diameter of your forearms is directly proportional to the shrinkage in other areas. So, I just don’t think this is going to work out. Pun fully intended.” Ouch.

The saddest part of all is thinking about the poor lab animals that have developed the side-effects these commercial so indiscreetly detail. I get chocked up thinking about all the rats out there who thought they were there to be cured of the alcoholism they developed living in the basement of Studio 54 and law schools throughout the country. They may now be sober, but must live the rest of their days with five tails, a fear of anything that begins with the letter A and Betty Davis’ eyes. Tragic.

Basically, I think the FDA should allow drug companies to simmer down the scare tactics. I would much rather the 30-second spots in between episodes of The Middle and Modern Family be spent providing information about what the drug is supposed to do rather than the awful things it could do to .01% of the population, i.e. your Aunt Mildred. Trust me, if I choose to seek treatment for IBS or Peripheral Vascular Disease and am interested in a drug, I will consult my doctor, thank you very much. (Not only that, but I HAVE to consult my doctor to get a prescription at which time my doctor will be required to discuss those all to interesting side effects with me.)

Oh, and one more thing: I hate the word “placebo.” It just sounds dirty.

That is all.

-Pokey

Fan Mail: Lindsay Lohan, P.S.

Dear Ms. Lohan,

I see you have bested the legal system again and were released after 15 hours. I think I spent more time than that thinking of all the wonderful uses and designs for shanks. I had some I was going to share with you, but I suppose there is no need. I even developed the soon to be patented Ex-Hollywood Starlet Shank made from the blood, sweat and tears of a soiled career and an onion. I chose the onion because it smells like failure.

Alas. My hard work down the drain - much like your contract for the Linda Lovelace flick. C'est la vie. That's how upset I am. I am speaking in tongues - and FRENCH no less.

Well, at a minimum I hope those 15 hours were well spent and very formative. And I hope you forego any trips to Cannes before the big court date this go around...$300K is a lot of dough to drop for failing to appear. And, to be honest, you'll probably need the cash in the future.

-Pokey

Fan Mail: Lindsay Lohan

Dear Lindsay Lohan:

May I call you LiLo? On second thought, I think I will stick with Lindsay. LiLo sounds like a spoiled French poodle with a bad perm and painted toenails. I think you should distance yourself from that moniker.

Okay, Miss Lohan. I am sorry that things didn’t work out with you and Samantha Ronson. In hindsight, your relationship was doomed from the start simply because it is impossible to merge Lindsay and Samantha without completely butchering both names beyond recognition. I tried. Think about it: Brangelina works. Brajennifer doesn’t. It’s science. If you really want to find true love, you should look for someone named Don or Donna. Lindon or Lindonna definitely have the makings of a lasting relationship.

So you failed yet another drug test and are going back to jail. You naughty girl, you. As you face the coming days and weeks and months of incarceration, some unsolicited advice: Make a shank. Shanks are important as they provide protection and can be a source of comfort. Shanks can be made out of just about anything from metal to paper. This one guy even made one out of Jolly Ranchers. Of course, he had a tattoo of a bullet hole in his forehead, but the line between genius and insanity is a fine one. If necessity is the mother of invention, then self-preservation is the mother of shanks.

Once you have made it, name your shank something nice, like “Sharpie McStabber” or “Ms. Cuts-a-lot” or “Debbie Deadmanmaker.” Shanks have feelings too, so don’t go naming it something stupid like “Apple Pantywhacker” or “LiLo.” Oh, and be creative and make your shank unique. Adding googely eyes or bedazzling it can really give your shank the necessary pizzazz to make a real impression when you drive it into the first person you catch trying to steal your tater tots (or your innocence). Don’t take my word for it, ask Martha Stewart.

Your shank will become your best friend and can be taken everywhere you go! Take it with you to the exercise yard and it can spot you while you bench press! Take it with you to the shower and you will no longer fear dropping the soap! Take it with you to the mess hall and no longer will you struggle to cut your government meat with a spork! You can even sleep with it at night and stay up late giggling and scheming how to become Inmate 56437832’s "you-know-what"!

What’s not to love about a shank? Shanks are so great that they even have their own verb that you can conjugate: “To shank, to live no more!” “I shank, therefore I am.” “I came, I saw, I shanked!” “I have shanked the maggots in the mind of the universe!” “I will shank you, but know it hurts me more than it hurts you!” Bottomline: A-list actors have bodyguards, inmates have shanks.

In all seriousness, you should really consider getting clean. Drug addiction is not a laughing matter. Drug abuse has caused the destruction of many lives and torn apart countless families. I once had hamsters. The dad got hopped up on moth balls and started staying out late, leaving his wife home alone with the kids. One day, he came back to the cage to find that his wife had eaten all the kids. Would it have happened if he hadn’t been out engaging in petty thievery to purchase his next hit? Probably. Hamsters are known for that (rabbits, wolf spiders and a host of fish are as well, but that’s beside the point). The fact is that drugs are bad and if you really try hard, you can free yourself from their grasp. I believe in you. And I believe that if you put your heart into it, you could totally finish a 12-step program in 10.

Yours very sincerely,

Pokey